Page 136 of What We Brave
The silence is loud.
Laine drops the sponge in the sink. Misses the holder completely. "I'm going to... I should go unpack. Properly. I left the wine upstairs."
She's rambling. She looks like she's about to crawl out of her own skin.
Blake pushes off the fridge. Catches my eye.
We don't need words. We spent years communicating with hand signals and head nods in environments where you couldn't hear yourself think. A quiet kitchen in Oregon? Easy. I see the question in his expression, and the offer.
She's ready. You got this?
I give him a small nod.
Blake's mouth quirks. He looks at Laine. "I'm heading to the shop."
Laine freezes, looking between us, eyes wide and dark. "You're... working? Now?"
"Got a deadline."
He starts toward the back door, passing right by her. But he doesn't keep walking.
He stops.
He steps into her space, crowding her back against the counter until her hips hit the granite. Laine gasps, her head tilting back, looking up at him with startled eyes.
"You're shaking," Blake murmurs.
"I'm not," she breathes, but her voice gives her away.
"Liar."
Blake reaches out, and his hand tangles in the hair at the nape of her neck. He doesn't pull—not quite—just holds her there, grip firm. Slow. Deliberate. He tips her head to the side, exposing her throat.
Laine's breath catches. Audible.
Then he lowers his head and sinks his teeth into the sensitive cord of her neck.
My hand finds the edge of the counter and locks on.
It's not gentle. It's not careful. It's a claim.
Laine makes this wrecked, high-pitched sound that goes straight through me—down my spine and into someplace low and hot I wasn't prepared for. Her hands clutch at his t-shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric, knuckles white. Blake holds the bite for a long second. Long enough that I can see the flush spreading down her neck, hear theragged edge in her breathing. Then he soothes the spot with his tongue.
Jesus.
I'm gripping the counter hard enough that the edge bites into my fingers. Mouth dry. Something just shifted—some wall I didn't know was there cracked clean open—and I can't look away. Don't want to look away.
When he pulls back, it's barely an inch. His eyes are dark, pupils blown. But his voice is controlled. Low and rough.
"You look like a mess, Laine. So desperate." He drags his thumb over her bottom lip. "He's gonna take such good care of you."
He releases her and walks out the back door without looking back.
Laine is panting, her hand flying up to cover the spot on her neck. She looks wrecked.
"He did that on purpose," she chokes out.
"Yeah." My voice comes out rough. Rougher than I intended. I clear my throat and it doesn't help. "He did."
